Sometimes You Just Get Lucky
by TinkerBella7
Summary: MarenMary93 requested a Jack story with an ongoing wrist injury alluding to his black wristband. Here it is with a bit of Mac whump and a lot of Jack angst.


Jack sat in the chair, across from the couch in MacGyver's living room, staring at the kid who was stretched out on the couch. He watched as Mac shifted in his sleep, curling up a bit more, but limited in his movement by the sling wrapped over his left arm strapping it securely to his side. When MacGyver shuddered and twitched, Jack realized he must be cold, so he got up and grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, spreading it over MacGyver and resisting the urge to tuck it in. Instead he stood there for a moment, watching the slim chest rise and fall, rise and fall, relishing each and every breath that signified that his friend was alive and well. No thanks to him.

Moving back to the chair, Jack slumped into it, scrubbing a hand over his face and rubbing at his tired eyes. He winced as the movement of his fingers made his wrist twinge a bit. His damn wrist was the reason MacGyver had almost died two days ago. Heaving a sigh, Jack removed his black wrist band and rubbed at the ache even as he glared at his limb. After a moment though he realized how ridiculous he was being, so Jack turned his attention back to MacGyver, nearly jumping out of his seat when he realized that pale blue eyes were staring at him.

"Please tell me you haven't been watching me sleep," MacGyver requested. "Because that would, seriously, be creepy."

"Okay, I won't tell you then," Jack countered, pulling the wrist band back into place.

But not before MacGyver noticed the scars bisecting the tanned skin. He didn't comment on them though, not yet. "What are you doing here, Jack?" Moving carefully, Mac made to sit up, cursing when pain stabbed through his arm.

Jack was on his feet and pretty much lifting the kid into a sitting position, before MacGyver could argue. "Take it easy or you're going to rip open the stitches. Again." That said he returned to his chair.

"Wasn't my fault last time," MacGyver groused, tugging the blanket off his lap. "And you didn't answer my question. Why are you here?"

"Just wanted to check up on you." Jack figured he might as well be honest, since MacGyver always knew when he was lying anyway, and would totally call him on it.

Resisting the urge to sigh dramatically, because he knew that Jack was sincerely worried about him, MacGyver instead stated, "Stop it, Jack."

Pretending ignorance, Jack countered, "Stop what?"

"Stop feeling guilty." MacGyver shifted forward and locked eyes with his friend. "What happened wasn't your fault, Jack. Let it go."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" Jack snapped, rising to his feet to confront Mac. He was shaking with anger as he snarled, "You got shot because I couldn't pull the trigger fast enough to stop the bad guy. That was my fault!"

MacGyver shook his head. "You stopped him from putting a bullet in my heart."

Jack wasn't about to let himself off the hook. "You still got shot."

"It's just a graze," Mac shot back. He stood up to face his friend and make his case, only to wobble on unsteady legs. He would have fallen if Jack hadn't caught him by his good arm and made him sit back down. "That could have gone better," Mac mumbled, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"It's more than a graze, Mac," Jack whispered, as he knelt by his friend. "There was so much blood..." He paused as the memory of MacGyver, the left side of his shirt soaked in blood, washed over him. "I thought I was going to lose you."

MacGyver reached out and gripped Jack on the shoulder. "Not gonna happen, my friend. Because you've got my back."

Jack pulled away from MacGyver, rising to his feet to pace the room. "Not so much this last time. My wrist locked up and my fingers were too numb to pull the trigger fast enough to stop that bastard from shooting you."

"You shot fast enough to save my life," MacGyver insisted. "That's what counts, Jack. But if you're so damn determined to beat yourself up about it...be my guest." He knew he wasn't going to convince the other man to go easy on himself in this moment, so he would let him work through his anger and guilt.

"I should have listened to you!" Jack hissed, as he continued to pace. "You said to take a few days off to heal up, but no...I insisted I was fine and let's go stop the bad guys. Only the bad guys almost stopped you."

MacGyver didn't say anything. He knew that Jack had to deal with the regret he was feeling. A week ago they had hunted down a hit man and managed to capture him. Of course, given their luck, the guy was built like a tank and had tried to make a run for it. So Jack had punched him, but it had taken repeated blows to the iron jaw to get him down. Jack's hand and wrist had swelled up and Mac had made him see a doctor. Doctor's orders were to ice it and give it a week to heal, but Jack had insisted he was good to go. MacGyver wasn't going to fault him for jumping the gun, he had been guilty of doing the same thing a time or two. So he simply sat there, waiting for Jack to continue.

It took everything in Jack to resist the urge to punch the nearest wall, to punish himself for what he had allowed to happen. MacGyver deserved to hear exactly how epic Jack's fail had been. "I had to switch hands to take the shot, Mac. If it had taken me just the blink of an eye longer...you'd be dead." It hurt to even say the words, but Jack ground them out. Closing his eyes he relived the moment, seeing MacGyver take the hit in the arm and fall back. It had taken two shots to stop the bad guy. The first shot had shifted his aim enough that MacGyver hadn't died, but it had taken Jack a second shot to stop the guy dead.

"If I had listened to you, Mac...waited just a couple more days...this wouldn't have happened." Jack stopped pacing to turn and face his friend. "I don't know how to forgive myself for that."

"I'm still here...still breathing," MacGyver replied. "That's how you do it, Jack. You know the rule...we don't cling to the things we can't change, we accept it, learn from it and move on. You taught me that rule, and it's a good one."

Jack felt a smile struggling to curve his lips. "Of course it's a good one, because it's my rule. But no fair using my own words against me."

MacGyver almost shrugged, but caught himself. "I'll do whatever it takes to get you to let go of your guilt. Guilt makes you clingy and I'm not feeling it right now. So get over yourself. I'll call for pizza, we'll crack open a six pack and watch Die Hard movies. You in?"

"You can't have beer," Jack countered. "You're on pain meds." He pointed to the prescription bottle on the coffee table, only to notice that Mac was shifting and rubbing the back of his neck. Both actions were guilt triggers. "You didn't take the pills, did you?"

"I don't need them," MacGyver stated, then he quickly shifted the focus off himself. "Tell me about the scars on your wrist. What happened?"

Jack rubbed at them through the wrist band, grimacing as the memory of that day replayed itself. "Back in my Delta Force days my team and I were in Afghanistan and the enemy took out the driver of our Humvee. He lost control and rolled it down an embankment. I broke my wrist, but I got my team out of the Humvee with the driver being the only casualty. We took out the enemy then called for a pickup. When they saw my wrist they sent me to medical then put me on a chopper. I have two pins in it and it took six months to heal up completely."

MacGyver winced in sympathy. "Is that why you wear the wrist band? For support?"

"That, and to cover up the scars so people don't ask about it," Jack replied. "The Doctor told me I might never get full use of my hand back, and I told him he was full of shit and I'd be back to one hundred percent in no time."

"That sounds like you," MacGyver conceded, grinning. "I've noticed it seems to bother you a bit when it's going to rain."

It didn't surprise Jack in the least that Mac had noticed that detail. The kid had exceptional observational skills. "It aches a bit when rain's coming and if I over use it."

MacGyver chuckled. "Which would be all the time, given the job description and all."

"Pretty much." Jack realized he was rubbing it again and dropped both hands to his sides. "Look...Mac...I can't say I'm sorry enough for what happened." He would have continued apologizing profusely, if a pillow hadn't smacked him directly in the face. Bending over to scoop it up, Jack tossed it back on the couch. "I think you lost that."

"Thanks." MacGyver grabbed hold of it. "I may need it to hit you again if you keep talking stupid. You need to get past this, Jack."

That was going to be far easier said than done. Jack moved to perch on the arm of the couch. "Here's the thing, Mac. What happened to you was a wake up call to me. I'm not getting any younger, bro. I've been in denial for years, but the truth is...it bothers me more than it used too. A lot more and it takes longer to heal."

MacGyver locked eyes with Jack. "Obvious solution, stop punching people, Jack. Stick to head butts or shooting them."

"I'm being serious, Mac." Jack felt the gravity of the situation weighing him down. He loved his job and he couldn't imagine being anywhere but out in the field with MacGyver, but the reality was that if he couldn't keep the kid safe, then he didn't belong out there. Even though the thought of trusting someone else to have Mac's back, shook Jack to his core. It shook him all the more to say the words out loud, but the kid deserved the truth. "I may have to pull myself out of the field."

"That's not funny, Jack," MacGyver snapped. He studied his friend and realized he was being serious. "You know what, I really wish I could punch you right now."

Jack almost chuckled at that. "I wouldn't recommend it based on the long-term issues."

MacGyver realized it was time to pull out the big guns, hitting Jack over the head - repeatedly - with the facts. "How often has this happened, Jack? Your wrist locking up and causing your fingers to go numb?"

"I dunno." Jack was thrown off guard by the question, but he could tell Mac seriously wanted to know. "I guess it was the first time for this specific scenario. I mean, my hand goes a little numb at times, but nothing like what happened two days ago."

"You mean what happened because you went against doctor's advice and went back to work before you were fully healed and cleared for duty?" MacGyver kept his eyes locked on Jack as he spoke. "Because if you want to feel guilty for that, go for it. But don't you dare leave me alone out there, just because you're having a mid-life crisis! You got me?" Mac was getting angry now and he didn't even try to hide it. He couldn't do what he had to do on the job, not without Jack.

Rising to his feet, Jack glared at the kid. "Now you wait one minute, Bro! I'm not having a mid-life crisis!" He might be old enough to have one, technically, but that so wasn't what was happening here. "What I'm trying to do is watch out for your best interests! Okay? I don't want to be responsible for you getting hurt because I'm not at the top of my game."

MacGyver almost jumped to his feet in an attempt to crow triumphantly, instead he wisely remained seated as he shook a finger at Jack. "Exactly my point. You weren't at the top of your game because you weren't fully healed. Your bad. But that doesn't mean you get to walk out on me and, yes, I'm making this all about me at the moment. You're not a quitter, Jack. So what the hell is really going on?" Because it suddenly occurred to MacGyver that this Jack meltdown was probably about more than just this one little incident.

"Maybe I'm just trying to keep you safe," Jack countered, stubbornly. Although he knew the kid was on to him and MacGyver could out stubborn a mule if so inclined, which he looked to be at the moment. So Jack got up to drop tiredly back into the side chair. "When the doctor told me I'd never have one hundred percent use of my wrist and hand again, I freaked out. I was determined to prove him wrong, but at the same time I had nightmares about failing."

"But you did prove him wrong," MacGyver reminded him. "So what's the deal, Jack?"

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face, but he figured in for a penny, in for a pound. "The nightmare that haunted me the most was the one where somebody got hurt because I malfunctioned. It was also the nightmare that motivated me the most to get my act together and prove Doc wrong. But here's the thing, Mac...two days ago, my nightmare came true. You got hurt."

MacGyver rolled his eyes. "Let's be realistic here for a moment. This wasn't the first time I got hurt on the job and it won't be the last."

"But this time you got hurt because of me," Jack stated. He had to make the kid accept the truth, no matter how much it hurt the both of them.

"I got hurt because the bad guy shot me, Jack," MacGyver countered.

Jack was ready for this one. "And he shot you because I wasn't fast enough to stop him because my wrist locked up. I win." He wasn't sure what he won, but he had right on his side, for what it was worth.

MacGyver felt a headache coming on and contemplated actually taking his prescribed pain meds. "Since you feel the need to blame yourself, I'll give you the fact that had you been able to shoot the bastard a tad bit faster, I might not have gotten hit at all. But here's the bottom line, Jack. If you hadn't been there, I would have died, because he would have shot me straight through the heart. Boom." Mac knew Jack couldn't top that one, because fact was fact.

"Doesn't make me feel any less guilty," Jack mumbled. He rubbed his wrist again, silently cursing the damn ache that didn't seem to want to go away.

"You have to work that out in your own time," MacGyver replied. "For now I'm guessing part of your emotional outburst is due to lack of sleep. So, since we both have the next week off, why don't we share my pain meds and watch Netflix until we fall asleep?

Jack realized that MacGyver wasn't wrong, he was exhausted. Ever since the kid had been shot, the memory of Mac's blood-stained shirt and chalk white complexion when he passed out from blood loss, had haunted Jack. Which meant he was running on fumes. Four hours of sleep in two days wasn't conducive to clear thinking. "Throw in a large pepperoni pizza and you've got a deal." He watched Mac reach for his phone on the coffee table, but dialing with one hand was challenging. "I'll call it in," Jack offered, "You pop open the pills. He knew the kid was in pain and that he needed more sleep as well, so Jack was ready to suck it up and take one for the team. They would both be better off after some sleep.

MacGyver eyed Jack warily. "So no more talk about quitting?"

"No more talk about quitting, for now," Jack promised. He would chill out for the week with MacGyver and let himself heal. But if his wrist locked up again when he was out in the field, then Jack would pull himself out. No way was he going to be responsible for Mac getting hurt again. "You want extra cheese on the pizza?"

"Get whatever you want, Jack," Mac replied, as he picked up the pill bottle and attempted to open it one-handed. "It's on me."

Jack watched him for a moment before plucking it out of Mac's hand. "I'm definitely going to have to stay on the team. What the hell would you do without me?" he asked, as he opened the top and tipped two pills into his palm. He held them out to MacGyver and was pleased when the kid took one without argument.

They swallowed them down with a water chaser, Mac sharing his water bottle with Jack. "So what do you want to watch?" MacGyver queried, because the remote was one thing he could work with only one hand.

"Surprise me," Jack said, because that's what MacGyver did every day without fail. Surprised Jack in some way or another, which kept things interesting to say the least. No way in hell was he going to give that up. He would just be more careful in the future, starting with now. He would let himself heal.

Thirty minutes later they were ensconced on the couch eating pizza and watching Game of Thrones, which Jack realized was pretty damn cool.

Twelve hours later Jack woke up on the couch, covered with the blanket, to find a bottle of orange juice and a donut on the coffee table. Sitting up he flexed his wrist, feeling it twinge a bit but nothing he couldn't handle. Hearing the shower running, Jack reached for the donut and took a bite.

He reflected on how he felt about what had happened, now that he'd gotten a good night's sleep and he realized it had been a wake up call of sorts. Sometimes, in their line of work, they got too complacent, taking too many things for granted.

Jack was a lucky man, and he knew it.

THE END


End file.
